Don't Call It Night by Amos Oz Page A

Kushner the bookbinder replies that it is old Elijah, Schatzberg the pharmacist's senile uncle, the doting old fool who kept escaping and sitting in the post office all day long; every five minutes he used to join the queue and when he got to the counter he'd ask, When's Elijah coming, and however often they chased him away he always came back.
    The cortège is in a hurry. The pallbearers are almost running because the Sabbath is approaching and they still have a lot of preparations to take care of before sunset. The elderly mourners are panting with the effort, and even so a gap has opened up between the bier and the mourners and another one between the leading mourners and the ones at the back. With all the commotion the corpse, covered in a yellowing tallit, looks as though it is writhing in agony. A fair-haired, sparsely bearded religious youth hurries at the head, rattling a tin can and promising that almsgiving saves you from death. Theo reflects for a moment and concludes that it is a moot point.
    In the Champs-Elysées Hairdressing Salon a noisy argument has broken out between Violette and Madeleine, the two stylists, who are sisters-in-law. Their shouts can be heard on the other side of the square. One wails, You don't even know yourself any more when you're telling the truth and when it's a filthy lie. And the other shrieks back at her, You tampon, you, don't you dare call me filthy. They have both visited Muki Peleg's bed, and perhaps still do. Muki Peleg himself is sitting over a beer in the California Café with a group of taxi drivers, and at the sound of the shouting he embarks on a detailed comparison that has his audience in gales of raucous laughter. Muki clasps the beer glass that is perspiring with cold in the six fingers of his left hand. Then they light up and talk about index-linked shares. Meanwhile, the funeral cortège has disappeared behind the Tel Kedar Local Council building, while at Gilboa's the crowd has dispersed and there are still plenty of papers for sale. Pretty Limor Gilboa is standing at the counter staring after Anat and Ohad, who have left the furniture shop and entered the Electronics Boutique. Kushner points to her with his chin and says to Bozo, Look how that one takes care of herself: she's a regular Princess Diana. Bozo remarks sadly, Until the Russian immigrants arrived, she was considered to be a national-class cello player. Now that thousands like her have come from Russia, she's become no bigger than that. That's celebrity for you: it's like water. Yesterday there wasn't any, today it's running, tomorrow there'll be none again. Do you remember a minister called Yoram Meridor? He was a household name? Always on TV? They say now he's opened a shopping mall at Netanya Junction. That's celebrity.
    Theo buys
Ma'ariv
and a local paper, sits down in the California, and orders a grapefruit juice. Muki Peleg invites him over to his table, which he calls the Council of Torah Sages. Theo hesitates and answers, Thanks, later maybe, and Muki adds, As the condemned man said to the hangman who offered him a cigarette while he was knotting the rope.
    Theo skims the headlines. Risk of renewed hostilities. Deaf-mute divorcee from Acre burns ex-husband's mistress alive. Transport Minister walks out of ceremony in protest. Gasoline prices to rise from midnight on Saturday. Security forces prevent ... In his mind's eye he follows the hasty Ashkenazi Sabbath-eve funeral cortège, which must have passed the car dump by now and reached the cemetery. First they lay the stretcher on the gravel path: like it or not, they'll have to wait for the stragglers to catch up. All the hurry was in vain: they can't begin until the last mourner gets here. The lugubrious Hungarian cantor fills his lungs with air, his face turns a furious red, and he starts to trill the prayer "O Lord Full of Compassion". He draws out the phrase, "May he repose in Paradise", he bows at, "he will face his destiny at the end of days",